


20,000 Leagues into Deep Space

by kittykitty30



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Body Horror, Childhood Trauma, Eldritch, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fear, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, Long, Lots of Angst, M/M, Other, Plotty, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Space Battles, Torture, Trauma, hoooooooooo where do i begin, in which lister is brave but also incredibly hungover, rimmer/lister eventually, this is going to be a RIDE, we're talking mega bunches of angst, yall better strap on your seatbelts because i am here to take names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykitty30/pseuds/kittykitty30
Summary: Lister wakes up completely alone, and as he searches Red Dwarf for answers, he begins to understand that there are deeper forces at play than he could ever possibly have predicted...
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 24





	1. The Air Shifts

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen a whole lot of horror fics for this fandom, but Rimmer/Lister is my otp, and I love horror, so I guess here you go? Space is as terrifying as the ocean, as deadly as an abandoned mine, and it begs the question: what would you be willing to do to save your friends? This piece is super slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, and contains angst GALORE, so please like/comment/bookmark! I'm in the middle of moving to a new city, so I'm going to be slow to update initially, but I do intend on sticking to a regular update schedule.

In all of his years in space, Lister had never expected to wake up completely, utterly alone. He always considered, in the back of his mind, that at the very least, there would be Holly; but when he opened his eyes after a long night of drinking, and struggled through the fog that clouded his brain, he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t hear the engines of the ship.

”Holly,” he said, clambering out of his bunk as dread sank in his chest, “what’s going on? Why’re the engines off?”

Not only was his question left unanswered, but there was nobody there to answer him; the lower bunk was empty, and the screen remained blank. Lister considered the idea that they were in the drive room; maybe they were floating through GELF territory and needed to stay off the radar. But as he walked down the long, stretching corridors, he noticed that the lights usually illuminating the hallways had gone dark; the vending machines were silent and shrouded in shadow; and the only sound left behind was the clapping of his boots against the vinyl.

He grabbed an emergency bazookoid from the wall, suspicions growing. If they were floating through GELF territory, then they might have already been ambushed; if they had already been ambushed, and he had somehow been spared, then he needed to be ready to fight for his life with everything that he had. He tried not to worry about the oxygen situation, instead choosing to believe that somehow the ship was still filtering air despite the fact that it had no power.

Lister came upon the door to the elevator. It did not greet him, nor did it open; instead, it displayed a red ‘Out of Service’ light, and Lister scowled. _This is going to be harder than I thought._ If the elevator wasn’t working, then the doors sure as hell wouldn’t, either. And if the doors didn’t work… there was only one option.

The grate leading into the vents budged quickly enough, and the man steeled himself. He _hated this._ There was no situation worse than crawling through tight spaces, apart from having to eat a pot noodle, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He didn’t know where he was going, or how far it would be- he just had to hope and pray to any deity that would listen that he’d end up in the service room somehow. There was a manually-operated elevator there; maybe he could use it to get up to the drive room? Thus, he bunched his shoulders, crouched down, and entered the sweltering maze of vents.

The bazookoid slung across his back made it difficult to crawl through the already-tight space, and he felt panic swirling in his chest with every movement, but he had to keep going. He had to fight off these GELFs and find his friends. Pushing away the fear clamping his heart, he went onwards.

Many minutes passed before he smelled the familiar stink of diesel, and he pulled himself into a crouching position over the grate leading to the corridor down below; steadying his legs, he pulled his knees to his chest, braced his palms against the ceiling, and then shoved his entire body downwards. The grate snapped open, and he tumbled to the floor; sharp pain shot through his legs as he landed awkwardly, and he stumbled to his feet, brushing his clothes back into position with a scowl. Okay. Service room. Right.

Through the red emergency lights, he could see the sign advertising the elevator; it was more of a dumbwaiter than anything else, complete with a bell to ring for signaling upper floors, and he slowly stepped inside the dusty, cramped lift. Grabbing the thick rope dangling from the top of the shaft, Lister braced himself. This elevator had not been used in three million years; it was entirely possible that the entire thing would crumble to dust as soon as he tugged, sending him catapulting to his death hundreds of floors below, and the swaying of the cage didn’t help build his confidence in the matter.

”All or nothing,” he muttered, steeling himself and wincing in preparation for a steep death. He gave the rope a tug; the lift rocked to the side, but was sturdy. Good. Another tug, same results, only this time it lifted ever so slightly upwards. Okay. Maybe this would work. He gave a hard pull this time, and the elevator jerked upwards; white-knuckled, Lister began pulling the rope downwards, the counter-rope tugging the lift up, and he did this for what felt like hours, slowly growing accustomed to the elevator’s instability. His arms ached, his head throbbed, but he kept going, focused solely on his mission to reach the drive room.

A light shone across the shaft a little further up, and Lister knew that this was the drive room. He’d sent supplies up here many, many times- okay, maybe not supplies, there was a _slight_ possibility they were gifts for Kochanski, but who was keeping track, anyway? And the presence of light was comforting; it meant that there was power in the drive room, which also meant that the oxygen was, in fact, recirculating. He kept going.

The closer he got to the light, the more on edge he felt; every hair on his body stood up, and he felt cold chills trickling down his spine. Something was very, very wrong about this light; it did not belong to the fluorescent overhead bulbs, but rather, it was golden, like it was coming from a fire. Lister sniffed; he smelled the musty, dusty elevator shaft, but no smoke.

He almost _wanted_ to smell smoke. At least that would explain the light.

Lister pulled the elevator even with the drive room, and he squinted against the blinding, golden light, and he quickly realized with horror that it was not coming from the overhead bulbs or from a small campfire; it was coming from outside. More specifically, it was coming from a _sun,_ a blazing ball of fire that Red Dwarf was careening towards. If Lister didn’t steer the ship, the entire vessel would be destroyed in a massive ball of flames. 

Lister leaped out of the elevator and raced towards the center drive console, his bazookoid bouncing against his back with each heavy footfall. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he smashed his hands into the console, desperately trying to remember the access code for the steering mechanism. “Five two nine oh,” he breathed, punching in the numbers. **Access denied.** “SMEG! Um… five two nine two?” **Access denied.**

The sun loomed ever closer through the thick windows, and Lister wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He had to _think._ What would Hollister have used as a code? Something stupid, no doubt. Hmmm…

”Oh,” Lister realized. “Of course.” He punched in the code: “One, two, three, four.” **Access granted.** Lister quickly grabbed the steering controls, and he dragged them as far to the left as he possibly could; he had to push through the resistance, just like putting a stick shift in reverse, except the resistance was ten times as thick, clearly not ever meant to be used unless in an emergency situation. This counted as an emergency situation, and thus, Lister let out a shout of pain as he threw his back muscles into it. The steering clicked into reverse, and the ship slowly began to pull itself away from the sun; of course, this was not easy, as a ship the size of a city was forced to fight gravity itself, and Lister felt like his muscles were going to pop out of his body as he forced himself to hold the steering mechanism in reverse.

This wasn’t happening fast enough. The gravitational pull was too strong. There was only one thing Lister could do: he had to increase the amount of pressure on the reverse thrusters. Ugh, he hated that he knew what ‘reverse thrusters’ were. Disgusting. As much as he’d attempted to avoid having a career, he’d ended up having one anyway. He’d deal with the ensuing mental battle later, though. Pressure. Right.

”I need more weight!” he screamed to nobody, and he looked around for something heavy that he could anchor himself to. Something within arms’ reach. Something like Kryten’s unmoving shell of a body.

Lister didn’t have time to be horrified. His mind was working overtime with zero additional pay; holding the steering mechanism in one hand, he shot his other hand out to Kryten, and he wrapped his hands around the mechanoid’s shoulder handle; this offered him extra weight, and he felt the ship beginning to reverse faster. With a grunt of pain, Lister jerked himself to Kryten, keeping his other hand wrapped firmly around the steering mechanism; the extra jerk was all he needed, because the ship immediately kicked into overdrive, and the reverse thrusters blasted at full strength, taking the ship out of the sun’s gravitational field and back into the empty vacuum of deep space.

Lister released the steering mechanism back into its neutral position, which sent him flying backwards; his head smashed into the floor, and stars floated in his eyes, his brain throbbing against his skull. That was a mistake. He’d forgotten about physics.

Slowly rising, cradling his temple with one hand, Lister approached the center drive console once more, and he flipped on the emergency parking brake, stopping the ship dead in its tracks. He then looked down at Kryten’s body, and then fainted.

He wasn’t out or long; when he came to, the ship was still parked, the sun but a dot in the distance that illuminated the drive room, and Kryten’s body still limp. Lister crawled over to the mechanoid, flipping him onto his back, and he recoiled in horror at the subsequent sight: the mechanoid’s face had been ripped from his head, leaving nothing but multicolored wires and chips spilling from the cavity. Something had done this deliberately, and Lister’s mind once again went to GELFs.

”Son of a smegger,” he muttered, drawing himself to his feet, and he approached the navicomp, smacking it a couple of times in the hopes it would turn on. Nothing. He remembered the lack of engines; the ship was still off. He’d have to turn it on. Smeg, there was so much going on, he could hardly think straight; he made his way to the power console, and he found himself once again blocked out by a password.

”It’s the kinda password only an idiot would have on his luggage,” he commented dryly, punching in ‘1,2,3,4’ and gaining access. He flipped the switch to start the engines, and was relieved to hear them rumble to life; bulb by bulb, the lights turned back on, restoring full visibility to the room.

Lister decided he had not wanted to see the full room. He decided that very, very quickly. Wires and control panels had been ripped from the walls, pieces of machinery strewn about helter-skelter, and there were tiny, itty bitty, little chunks of grey metal scattered like arrowheads across the floor. Lister bent down next to one and picked it up, and felt something familiar about it; he picked up another, and another, and another, until his palm was filled with them, and he sat down at the center console to try and piece them together. “Like a jigsaw,” he told himself. “But 3D.”

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t the light-bee. His heart sank as the little pod began to take shape on the table, and he decided he didn’t want to see any more of it, but something inexplicable overcame him, forcing him to finish it. He collected more pieces from the floor until they were all accounted for, and then he finished the puzzle. It was the saddest puzzle he’d ever finished, he decided.

”No Kryten,” he said, rising slowly. “No Rimmer.” He was fully prepared to find the body of the Cat somewhere, and he looked around, raising the bazookoid and pumping it. One thing was for goddamn sure: he wasn’t going to be next.

”Cat?” he called, halfway hoping he’d get a response, but the room remained silent. Lister turned back to look at the little pod. “Please, Cat, I don’t know if you’re in here, but I need you to answer me, please.”

Nothing.

”Please,” Lister repeated, and the word echoed through the empty drive room. “Cat. I _need_ you to answer me.”

Silence.

”Holly? Are you back online?”

No answer.

Lister slowly looked down at the weapon in his hand, and he knew what he had to do. He had to go looking for his friend, even if his search only turned up a body; it was the only thing he could think of. With a deep breath, he readied himself for anything that may lay ahead, and he turned towards the doorway.

This was not how he’d planned on spending his Sunday afternoon.


	2. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another day, another chapter! I had a ton of fun writing this one. I've got tons and tons and tons of muse for this fic, so there's a possibility I'll be updating a lot.... that's not a bad thing, right? RIGHT?! Anyway, please enjoy!

Lister didn’t know how long he’d been looking. The thing about corridors is that they were long, shadowy, and had lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling; and the thing about the ship’s layout is that the only way around was to somehow decipher between each corridor, despite the fact that they were all long, shadowy, and had lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling. He felt like that guy from _The Shining_ with the ax and the memorable catchphrase.

”Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere’s Davy,” he sang out for no particular reason at all as he poked his head around a corner, gazing down the long, shadowy corridor with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling. This was fruitless; the Cat’s body could be anywhere. How did he know the Cat was dead, anyway? Maybe the Cat had gotten away somehow, and was hiding out in a closet or wardrobe. Or maybe whatever had ripped Kryten’s face clean off had stowed away somewhere on the ship after finishing off the feline and was lying in wait for its next prey.

Kryten’s face.

Kryten’s face, which belonged to one of Kryten’s heads.

”Smegging hell, he’s got spare heads, how could I forget he has spare heads?” Lister exclaimed, and he quickly turned tail, pelting down the previous long, shadowy corridor with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling, this time with a clear goal in an otherwise very foggy mind.

Running was a bad idea; this he knew almost immediately as his stomach rolled, and he slowed to a halt, feeling a cold sweat bead at his skin. “Those heads aren’t going nowhere,” he grumbled to himself, sinking to the cool vinyl floor. He waited, leaning against the wall, for his stomach to stop its digestion-themed Eurovision Song Contest performance before he once again carried on towards the closet in which Kryten stored his spare heads, albeit much slower this time.

Slowly opening the door to the closet, he stepped inside, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dark light. Three heads sat in a perfect row atop a shelf, but something was wrong; they were unmoving, staring blankly ahead, and Lister felt a shiver run down his spine. “Er…. Hiya.”

Silence.

Why was he always greeted with silence these days? Frustrated, he crossed his arms, and when he spoke, it was a bit more aggressive than he’d initially intended on being. “I said, _hiya._ Haven’t you at least got the bare minimum, and I’m talking the absolute barest of bare minimum, decency to say hi back?”

Still nothing. Maybe they needed to be connected to Kryten somehow in order to work? There was probably some kind of security protocol surrounding that- nobody wants their cleaning droid’s heads to take over after the droid is deactivated, after all. Lister sighed. He was right back to square one, and he didn’t even know what square one _was._

”I wish someone were here to talk to me,” he said, trailing his hand along the door frame as he stepped back out into the long, shadowy corridor with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling. “Anybody. I mean, how am I supposed to figure out what’s going on by meself?”

He just wanted to give up. He pulled the bazookoid into his hands, staring down at it. A thought came to mind, but he quickly pushed it back. _Last resort, mate, very last resort,_ he decided. He slung it over his back again and pushed on. _God,_ his head ached. He wanted to lay down and sleep off the rest of his hangover, but he didn’t want to risk getting killed; as such, he accepted his fate of wandering the ship’s long, shadowy corridors with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling, searching for answers fruitlessly.

He wasn’t sure how many more hours passed after that. The familiar hum of the engines kept him company as he trailed along through the corridors, his hand running absentmindedly along the wall, his hangover slowly dissolving, the bazookoid now dangling at his side. It was difficult to think about, the whole ‘losing his friends’ thing, but it was all he could focus on. He was alone. Truly, utterly alone, three million years in deep space, with not even the skutters for company.

_How did I get into this mess? I didn’t drink that much, I only had ten glasses of bitter, it just doesn’t make sense! How can everybody just go missing like that while I sleep comfortably in my bunk? Those must’ve been pretty dumb GELFs, leaving behind their easiest prey like that._

If the GELFs didn’t kill him, the loneliness sure as hell would.

Lister found himself headed towards the hologrammatic projection suite. He didn’t know why, but something was drawing him closer to it. His instincts were screaming at him, shouting that there were answers in the suite, though he wasn’t sure how that could possibly be the case; but who was he to deny himself the possibility of it? It was worth a shot, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he would be looking for, or what he would find when he got there.

Upon arrival in the hologrammatic projection suite, Lister looked around, trying to find anything different about the room. It was exactly as expected: filled with screens and consoles that made absolutely zero sense to anybody except Holly, along with one of Rimmer’s remote projection belts stashed in the corner. Frustrated, Lister kicked the center console. _Why did I come here?! There’s nothing here for me. It was pointless._

When his boot smacked the console, the attached screens buzzed; Lister froze, his gaze trailing slowly down, and he gave the console another kick, this time deliberate. The screens buzzed again, then flickered to life; a blue screen greeted him, and he realized with a jolt that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

”Okay,” he told himself, leaning down against the console and staring at the blank blue screen, “ooooookay. Think, man, _think._ ” He pressed his palm against his forehead, urging the gears in his brain to dust themselves off and get to grinding. “Just have to find a way to get the system rebooted. Okay. So that means unplugging cables, plugging them back in again, maybe rewiring some computers, and then… then what?” He shook his head. It didn’t matter- he’d cross that bridge when he got there. With a new mission in mind, Lister set about gathering supplies, and once he had a nice collection of tools dangling from his belt, he got to work.

Rewiring computers wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it might be; he was a maintenance guy, but that didn’t mean he was any good at his job. This kind of work was _way_ above his paygrade, but if he got the hologrammatic projection suite back into working order- what had caused it to break, anyway?- then he would be one step closer to finding out what had happened to his friends.

”YES!” Success! He plugged in a wire.

Immediately after plugging in said wire, sparks zapped from the socket, and he quickly unplugged it, backing away from the unit in frustration. Damn it, so maybe he’d spoken too soon. Truthfully, he had no clue what he was doing; his incompetence could be infuriating sometimes, even though it was the one aspect about himself that he was most proud of, and he started to pace, trying to think.

The thought of GELFs once again crossed his mind. _Why haven’t they found me yet? They can sniff out a human from miles away. If they were going to kill me, they would have already._ He poked his head through the door, staring down the long, shadowy corridor with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling, and he thought he saw a shadow move.

Faster than a whip, Lister raised the bazookoid, his hand clamping around the trigger, locked and loaded. _What the fuck WAS that?!_ Fear ran through his body in droves as the shadow moved once again, and he pressed himself against the door frame, raising the bazookoid to eye level and aiming. _Oh my god. That’s not a GELF. What in the-_

It was _massive,_ serpentine, slender, and _wrong,_ and that was all Lister could make out before it disappeared into a vent. He felt his stomach roll; he’d been crawling in those very vents only a few hours ago. Had that _thing_ been following him? He drew back slowly into the hologrammatic projection suite, his heart racing. _Is it going to drop down on me?_ He whipped the bazookoid upwards, staring at the singular vent grate, waiting.

At least one thing was certain now: he didn't need to worry about GELFs.

No sounds came except for the hum of the engines and the rushed breaths escaping his lips. Lister didn’t know what to do; he could back out into the hallway, but that would trap him. He could stay in this room, but that would also trap him. That creature had not been anything he’d ever seen, but he knew, he _knew,_ that it had something to do with Kryten’s missing face and Rimmer’s shattered light-bee and Cat’s disappearance and the overall shutdown of the ship. What did it have in store for _him?_ And why wasn’t it attacking? Was it waiting for the right moment? To catch him off guard?

Lister felt a new headache coming on. “You have to wake up pretty early in the morning to smite me down, you smegger!” he found himself shouting, and he whipped every which way, glaring into the shadows as though they held more beasts. “I’m not particularly in the mood to have me face ripped off, so try again later!”

He was trembling. It was uncontrollable. But what _was_ controllable was that center console with the blue screens; now more than ever, Lister felt it imperative to fix that computer, and so he edged closer to it, keeping his guard up. He gave it another swift kick with his boot; the sound was far too loud against his ears, but it worked. The screens flashed green. He gave it another kick, this time harder. The screens flashed white, and a loading screen appeared. **Downloading memory from most recent backup. 50% complete.**

Whatever that meant, it must be good. Something clattered in the overhead vents, and Lister once again pointed his weapon at the ceiling, feeling his heart pound faster than lightning. He couldn’t get the image of the serpentine shadow out of his head; he swore he had seen limbs, but he couldn’t be sure, and he felt a wave of nausea overcome him. He checked the screen. **Downloading memory from most recent backup. 75% complete.**

”Come on,” he growled at the console through gritted teeth as another clattering sound came from above, this time much closer to the vent grate. The hairs on the back of his neck rose; he was being watched. He peered into the darkness beyond the grate, but all he could see was black, black, black, and he did not dare remove his gaze. He felt that if he looked away, he would become serpentine soup. He felt that if he looked away, he would never find out what happened to his friends or the ship. And most importantly, he felt that if he looked away, everything that he had ever been through would be for nothing, lost to the unbiased hand of time.

Something shifted just beyond the reaches of his eyesight, something _big,_ and Lister felt torn. If he looked away from the grate, chanced a glance into the corner of the room, he would be attacked from above; but if he didn’t look, he’d be attacked straight-on. It was a difficult decision, and one that he had to make immediately, because that same something moved once again in the corner of his eye. It was a trap, he knew it; he’d been set up.

”Smeg.” It was all he could think to say. “Smegging smegger from smegville, you’ve got to be smegging me.” _Is this really it? Is this how I go?_ He felt tears bubbling in his eyelids as a wave of hopelessness crashed over him. This was it. This was how he died.

Both creatures moved again, and Lister couldn’t break his stare from the vent grate no matter how badly he wanted to. What was the point? He was going to be eaten either way. Why make the process more terrifying than it already was? “If you’re going to kill me,” he said, his voice quivering, “I suggest you do it quickly, because I’m not the kinda guy who just sits round and lets himself be toyed with like some kinda plaything before I become something’s dinner.”

 _What are you waiting for? Just shoot in its direction. But what if I miss and hit something vital to the projection suite? What if I shoot it and the thing in the ceiling jumps down at the same time and gets me while my gun’s pointed away? What if I shoot the thing in the ceiling but the thing in the corner gets me while my gun’s pointed up?_ It was a lose-lose situation. Once again, he was faced with a choice: which creature did he want to get eaten by?

The thing in the corner was almost upon him now. He made his choice; whipping around, he faced it head-on, and discovered that it was not, in fact, a shadowy monster, but rather, it was Rimmer. Lister didn’t have time to react before the grate rattled overhead; several things then proceeded to happen at once. The monster flung itself downwards from the ceiling, Rimmer barreled into Lister and shoved him to the ground, the hologram blocked Lister’s view of the beast with his body, and Rimmer’s hard-light drive protected Lister from the monster’s butcher knife teeth. It fled as quickly as it had attacked, and Rimmer rolled away from Lister, stunned.

Lister stared at the ceiling. What in the world had just happened? Was this some kind of fever dream? He wasn’t entirely unconvinced that he was still drunk, and he slowly rose, rubbing his forehead and staring at Rimmer with wide, surprised eyes. Was this real?

”Rimmer,” he said.

”Lister,” Rimmer greeted in response with a confused duck of his head, and he seemed just as freaked out.

”Er, what was that?” Lister rose to his feet. “I thought you were dead? Your light-bee, it was-“

”Shattered,” Rimmer finished, also rising slowly. Confusion was turning into curiosity, plastered across his face in a smug sneer. “I know. I noticed.”

”So how are you here, then?” Not that it was a _bad_ thing, necessarily.

”You somehow managed to reboot me,” Rimmer said, approaching the center console thoughtfully with his hands held behind his back. “Now, granted, I don’t know _how,_ exactly, since you’ve never been able to so much as fix a _leaky faucet,_ but you did. You rebooted my hard-light drive based on a memory backup. Very interesting indeedy!~”

Lister was reminded of why he hated Rimmer so much, and any joy at seeing his old friend vanished almost instantly. “Whatd’ya mean, I can’t fix a leaky faucet? I’ve fixed loads of things, thank you very much!”

”Name one thing.”

”What!”

”Go ahead, Listy, enlighten me! Name _one thing_ you’ve successfully fixed.” Rimmer regarded Lister with smug expectation, because he knew Lister would be unable to name something meaningful. It was an expression that urged Lister to greet Rimmer’s flaring nostrils with his knuckles, but he held back. Barely.

Lister snapped his fingers. “I fixed Kryten when you landed on that psi-moon,” he said, sticking out his tongue. “How’s _that_ for fixing something!”

Rimmer’s nose twitched. “Well- er- that doesn’t count, obviously, because you didn’t put it all back properly the first time, did you? I watched the black box recording, I know he was walking backwards because of your shoddy workmanship, obviously, so therefore you have obviously never fixed anything in your life and will likely remain that way forever and end of discussion!”

Lister scoffed. This was ridiculous. “Alright, Rimmer, whatever,” he responded, crossing his arms. “So I fixed your light-bee by rebooting the computer, then?” Back to the matter at hand; they could bicker later, preferably when they weren’t being hunted by a shadow-clad monster.

Rimmer circled the console curiously, then stopped in front of the screens and peered closer.

”No, I don’t have a light-bee,” he observed thoughtfully. “I don’t feel it rattling around inside of me like it usually does. I think, and this is just a theory, but I think that my projection is being sustained by the ship itself.”

Lister had a theory. “Your remote projection belt,” he said, pointing. “The computer generated your projection from that, didn’t it? So you’re not projected by a light-bee, you’re projected by the belt itself.”

Rimmer looked down at his waist, then flashed his hips in a circle, feeling the weight of the belt. “Fantastic,” he said dryly. “So if anything happens to this belt, I’m finished? Is that what you’re telling me? Somehow I miss having a light-bee, at least I could somewhat protect that. Now I’m more exposed than a mole rat on a Californian nudist beach.”

“Be that as it may,” Lister said, “I’ve got questions, Rimmer. When was your last memory backup?”

”Right after that _thing_ ripped Kryten apart,” Rimmer responded. “Why?”

Good. Now he was finally getting somewhere; as much as Lister hated that he had to spend time with this smeghead, he was grateful to no longer be stuck wandering aimlessly down long, shadowy corridors with lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling. He beckoned for Rimmer to join him, and- brandishing the bazookoid- led the way out of the hologrammatic projection suite.

”Follow me,” he ordered the hologram, stepping out into the hallway and pausing, staring into the darkness beyond the reaches of the fading fluorescent bulbs. “We’ve got lots to catch up on.” Something stirred in the darkness, and Lister readied the bazookoid. For whatever reason, he felt far more confident when there was a life other than his own at stake, and he took a threatening step forward, Rimmer lingering safely behind him.

”Er, what have we to catch up on that’s so urgent, Listy? Why don’t we take a step back, maybe put on the kettle, enjoy some biscuits while we do everything that we can in order to avoid…. _whatever_ that thing is?” Rimmer asked in a squeak, prepared to turn tail and run, and Lister pumped the bazookoid, making absolutely goddamn sure there was an explosive in the chamber.

”No,” Lister said, raising the bazookoid and firing a warning shot; the round exploded at the end of the hallway, sending the shadow skittering away, and Lister lowered the weapon, continuing forward. “If you don’t mind, Rimmer, I’ll be doing the asking from now on.”

Rimmer, for once in his weaselly life, did not argue; Lister filtered through the many questions in his head, eventually deciding on the best one to start with, the most important one, the one that would determine their next course of action, the one that meant life or death.

”What happened to the Cat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to leave kudos, comment, and bookmark for future updates! Thanks! <3


	3. Resolutions Formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Rimmer is smart.... ish.

”Rimmer?”

”What?”

Rimmer glanced back at Lister, a little pissed off at the interruption. Why was he always being questioned? Why couldn’t his decisions just be respected? If he wanted to find a place to hide while they strategized their next step, then he was going to find a place to hide. That was that. Did _everything_ have to be an argument?

”Why’d you push me out of the way?”

The question froze Rimmer in his tracks. He hadn’t been expecting that, and he blinked in surprise. “What? When?”

Of course he knew when.

”You know when, smeghead. Why’d you do it?”

Lister was grinning, an eyebrow raised, propped against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest like some kind of cocky criminal who had just gotten away with murder, and Rimmer felt his blood boil. He wasn’t going to answer that. He did not owe this man any explanation.

”You’re losing focus,” he stated all too quickly, turning frontwards and taking a step down the corridor. “Keep your head in the game, Lister, or we’ll never find the Cat-“

”Stop trying to avoid the question, Rimmer, I want to know the truth,” Lister responded, a bit more serious this time, and he stepped away from the wall, burning holes into the back of Rimmer’s jacket with his stare. “Why did you push me out of the way?”

”Habit,” Rimmer said slowly. “It was habit. I didn’t expect that _thing_ to attack me, or I wouldn’t have done it, would I? I was just trying to move you away from the screens, I didn’t want you to break anything with your- your _clumsiness,_ or your inexplainable ability to produce drippy, liquidy, sloppy foods seemingly from thin air. If that computer gets damaged,” he turned to face Lister coldly, “then I’m back to being dead, and I don’t want that, do I?”

Lister didn’t look convinced, and Rimmer felt anger rising in his chest. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

”No, no, I believe you, Rimmer, I do,” Lister said, a tad of disappointment in his tone, and he pushed past Rimmer, taking the front and leading the way down the corridor. Over his shoulder, he said, “You know, you’re too much of a coward to have readily risked your life for me. What isn’t there to believe?”

Those words stung, and the anger died down as quickly as it had flared. _Why is he being so mean?_ Rimmer wondered, following him closely. “Well, I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he lied, crossing his arms bitterly. “I’m telling the truth and I know that and that’s enough, so there.”

”Rimmer, you really are a child, aren’t you?” Lister muttered backhandedly, then stopped, holding out a hand to prevent the hologram from moving any further. “Hold on, we’ve got visual. Something straight ahead.” Rimmer noticed his eyes narrowing, and he slowly followed the man’s line of sight into the shadows at the end of the corridor; the stink of diesel filled his nostrils, and he held back a gag. “Something _big.”_

Rimmer swallowed nervously. He hated this with every fiber of his being. “My professional opinion would be to turn tail and leg it as fast as we possibly can,” he quietly recommended, eyes locked on the dark mass at the end of the hall. Lister pumped the bazookoid in response, raising it, aiming it; Rimmer took a step closer, shielding himself behind the human.

”I see my professional opinion wasn’t enough to deter you, so perhaps a bit of an explanation is required in order to fully express said opinion,” Rimmer quickly hissed. “You see, that creature has teeth, and lots of them; and the thing about teeth, and opposing forces being in possession of a great many of them, is that, to put it as plainly as possible, I don’t want to be chewed up and spat out like an oversized chew toy. Now, I’m sure even the most simple-minded person would be in agreement with this sentiment, so let’s bugger off, shall we?”

He made a move to turn and run, but Lister held out a hand again, stopping him. “Wait,” Lister said, “I don’t think that’s the same thing that attacked us. Look.”

Rimmer dared to peer closer, and found that Lister was right: it was big, certainly, but it was more humanoid than the last shadow creature, with long, spindly arms that ended in sharp claws, a bulge around the neck area signifying jaws that could unhinge, and a bulbous stomach that ended in legs too skinny to carry its weight properly. It was malformed, but Lister was right: it was not the same creature as before.

”Its eyes,” Rimmer softly said. Two miniscule, white dots were laid deep within the creature’s head, glowing as it stared straight towards them, and Rimmer felt like prey. He realized quickly that the sensation of being watched was not coming from one direction, but rather, from multiple.

”You know how, in a forest, if a deer sees a singular wolf, it will stare at that wolf for a moment, waiting for it to strike?” he asked Lister, fear dripping from his words.

”Yeah?” Lister asked, matching his tone, and he glanced back, looking Rimmer in the eye. He was scared; just as scared as Rimmer, if not more so, Rimmer noted.

”And all the while, unbeknownst to the deer, more wolves are circling, waiting for the signal to strike,” Rimmer continued. Lister whipped around, staring back the way they’d come; more tiny, white dots peered from the bulky shadows, and Rimmer glanced momentarily at them before returning his stare to the shrouded figure up ahead.

It had moved closer in the split second that neither of the two were looking. “Keep your eyes on them,” Rimmer ordered, slowly stepping to the side. Up above the monster, he could see lots of dangly bits hanging from the ceiling; unlike Lister, he actually knew what they were. They were ventilation tubes, signal connections, wires that plugged various machines into the generators deep down in the belly of the ship, and- most importantly- they were horribly conductive. He’d keep that in mind for later.

”Keep your eyes on them,” the monster up ahead mimicked, and Rimmer was stunned to hear his own voice played back at him like a recording. Lister moved to look, but Rimmer pressed his palm against the man’s face, preventing him from turning his head away from the monsters behind them.

”That wasn’t you,” Lister said softly, “was it?”

”No,” Rimmer responded, “it wasn’t.”

”No it wasn’t,” the monster repeated, and Rimmer’s nose twitched. He _hated_ being mocked, and each word that came from the shadow’s throat sent cold chills running down his spine. What was it doing this for? Recording his voice? Surely it was a manipulation tactic? Two could play at that game. Nobody outmanipulated the manipulation king!

”Lister, I don’t want you to panic,” Rimmer said, “but I have an idea.”

”Smeg,” Lister breathed, “Rimmer, we can’t run away, don’t you see we’re trapped-“

”Lister, I don’t want you to panic, but I have an idea,” the monster repeated, and Rimmer took a step backwards so that he could look at both the beast and Lister.

”I’m a stupid smegging stupid smegger who doesn’t realize what he’s gotten into,” Rimmer told the monster at the end of the hall, and it repeated him perfectly; he shot a glance at Lister, who was clearly uncertain. _Your lack of confidence is really, really, really annoying._

”My name is Arnold J. Rimmer,” Rimmer said, “and I denounce this entire operation.”

”My name is Arnold J. Rimmer, and I denounce this entire operation,” the monster repeated. Rimmer felt a smirk crawling up his lips. _You’re mimicking me, and only me; but what else will you mimic?_

Rimmer took the bazookoid from Lister, who hesitantly gave it up, and he then aimed at the ceiling, the same ceiling which contained pieces of wire that, when shot by a bazookoid, would plummet to the floor and electrocute anything it touched. The monster recoiled, displaying some modicum of intelligent thought, and Rimmer lowered the weapon as a response; it moved its arms in a similar motion, now mimicking his movements.

He wanted to explain himself to Lister, but something kept him from voicing his plans; he’d just have to squeeze his eyes shut, swallow his fear, and hope it worked. He stepped away from Lister, bazookoid in hand, and then he charged.

”Rimmer! What the smeg are you-“ Lister yowled, whipping around, and as soon as his back was turned, the shadows burst into action, chopping forward like the waters of an ocean storm; the monster Rimmer was racing towards mimicked his actions, running just as quickly towards the hologram, and as they passed one another, Rimmer whispered something into its ear.

”Like two ships passing in the night, one will remain on the ocean longer,” the monster repeated just as loudly, and the shadows- triggered by these words- descended upon it in droves, giving Rimmer and Lister a chance to escape; they turned the corner and disappeared down another long hallway, leaving the shadows far behind them.

Rimmer knew Lister was bursting with questions, and he knew that he’d be bombarded as soon as they stopped; but for right now, they needed to focus on scarpering, and that’s exactly what they did. The corridors stretched endlessly, turning this way and that in a maze of gunmetal-grey walls and slippery white floors, and as they ran, Rimmer couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to Lister’s original question.

Why _had_ he shielded Lister? It wasn’t because he was protecting the screens, but it wasn’t because he liked the man, either. Something deeper than he could comprehend had made him do it, an instinct inside of him that had awoken abruptly; he wondered if it was the same instinct that had made him run into danger just now instead of fleeing like he always did. _Fleeing…_

Suddenly, his mind flashed with images, and he screeched to a stop, staring ahead without focus. _Kryten. The Cat._ He’d never answered Lister’s question! The Cat’s face flashed in his mind, fearful, broken, while Kryten’s screams of protest filled his ears, and he couldn’t see anything else, he couldn’t hear anything else, it was all he could think about; slowly, he turned to look back the way they’d come, the hallway shrouded in darkness, the lights barely illuminating the path, and he _understood._ He knew what had happened. Sort of. Maybe.

”Like two ships passing in the night, one will remain on the ocean longer,” he repeated quietly, swirling the word in his mouth, and Lister grabbed him roughly by the hand, forcing him out of his trance; suddenly, he remembered why he had been running in the first place, and he took off again, the much faster Lister leading the way with his fingers wrapped tightly around the hologram’s wrist.

Lister did not release him until they were in the well-lit sleeping quarters; Rimmer slid onto the couch, withdrawn, while Lister did everything he could in order to barricade the door and fully illuminate the room, even going so far as to block off the vents before coming to sit down beside the hologram.

”What was _that,_ man?!” he exclaimed, staring at Rimmer in confusion. “Why’d you stop, you could’ve gotten the both of us killed!”

”I… saw something,” said Rimmer, finding it difficult to voice exactly what he had seen. “Visions. Flashbacks, I think. Totally unprompted, completely random, but… important.”

”Important how?” Lister pressed. “Rimmer, what visions?”

Rimmer turned to face his crewmate. “You asked me when my last memory backup was, and I said it was right before Kryten was ripped apart.”

”Yeah, then you didn’t answer me when I asked what happened to the Cat,” Lister scowled.

”I don’t know what happened to him,” admitted the hologram with a sullen glance at his hands, “but I think my memory was taking a little longer than usual to fully backup.” He fell silent for a moment. “I know what happened to Kryten.”

Lister was quiet, contemplating this new information on his own, no doubt. “Okay, so what happened to him, then?”

”His face was ripped off.”

Lister blinked. “Could you be more specific?”

”Oh, right, sorry. His face was ripped _clean_ off.”

Lister groaned, rising and beginning to pace. “This is useless, we’re getting absolutely nowhere-“

”It wasn’t a shadow monster scary thing that did it, Lister,” Rimmer quickly tacked on, also rising, “it was something else.”

Lister froze. “What d’you mean, _something else?_ You mean those aren’t the only things onboard?”

”I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean,” Rimmer said. “I haven’t the cloudiest idea what those are, to be perfectly frank; I’d never seen them before you fixed my projection.”

”So what was it you saw?”

”The Cat. I saw the Cat.”

Lister let out an incredulous laugh. “The Cat! You mean to tell me the Cat just walked up to Kryten and decided to Hannibal Lecter his face?!”

”No, not the Cat, but… something _like_ the Cat.”

Lister’s smile disappeared. “Like a polymorph?”

”No, not a polymorph,” Rimmer quickly shook his head, “it didn’t want Kryten’s emotions, that’s not what it was after.”

Lister rubbed his temples with his fingers. “This is too confusing,” he groaned. “What did it want, then?”

Rimmer raised a finger. “I think,” he declared, “it wanted his face.”

Lister glared at Rimmer incredulously. “Who would have guessed that the thing ripping off Kryten’s face was after his face all along?” he commented dryly. “Such a shocker, Rimmer, well done.”

”No, you’re not _listening to me,”_ Rimmer argued in frustration. “It didn’t want his face just to have it, it wanted his face so it could mimic it. Don’t you see?” When Lister did not, in fact, see, Rimmer took to pacing, and Lister sat down to listen. “The monster in the hallway was mimicking my words, and then it started to mimic the things that I did. When I ran towards it, it ran towards me; I repeated something to it, it mimicked me again, and then it got attacked by its buddies.”

Lister frowned. “What did you repeat to it?”

”Like two ships passing in the night, one will remain on the ocean longer,” explained Rimmer. “Now, would you like to know where I _first_ heard that?”

Lister shot him a glance. “Go ahead, Rimmer, you don’t have to keep asking me, I want to know, just tell me.”

”The Cat said that to Kryten while he was attacking,” Rimmer said, feeling excitement growing as he pieced together the jigsaw. “But we know that it wasn’t really the Cat, because it was just a mimic. But how do we know it was the same type of beast that’s been following us?”

”What are you implying?”

”That there are two creatures,” Rimmer said, planting his hands on his hips and staring down at Lister wildly. “One that mimics us, and one that wants to kill the mimic. Don’t you understand?” With each word, he grew more and more animated, gesturing with his hands towards the door and stepping closer to Lister. “Those shadows didn’t kill Kryten and the Cat, they were trying to kill the mimic!

”Rimmer, I need you to think about what you’re saying,” Lister tried to diffuse, but Rimmer couldn’t fight his enthusiasm; he loved the feelings swirling in his chest right now, feelings of importance, and feelings of intelligence, and he pranced behind the couch, leaning down over Lister and speaking over his shoulder with a gigantic grin.

”So why would one species want to kill the other? Hmmm, well that’s a very interesting question, Listy, thank you for asking! ‘Like two ships passing in the night, one will remain on the ocean longer.’ Think about that. Think about what that implies.”

”I almost don’t want to,” Lister commented, shaking his head in confusion and pressing a finger against his temple. “What does this mean, Rimmer, what are you trying to say? That there’s some kind of inter-species war that we’re caught in the middle of?”

”Not exactly,” Rimmer said, “maybe not a war, but most certainly a battle! Oooh, I _do_ love a good battle, don’t you?” He pulled away from the couch, approached the mirror, and began to fix his thick curls. “There’s nothing quite like a good fight to wake up to.”

”Nothing quite like it, sure,” Lister muttered, glancing at Rimmer uncertainly. He stood. “But what’s that got to do with Kryten and the Cat and us? And how did your light-bee get shattered?”

Rimmer paused. Now _that_ was a good question. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m sure we could find out through the black box recording. In any case, focus, Lister! Why would two species be at battle with one another, and why would the mimic use that phrase? Why would the others react so negatively to it? I think it has something to do with territory.”

”Territory!” Lister exclaimed. “What d’you mean, _territory?_ ”

”I mean territory, exactly as I put it,” Rimmer frowned, turning to face him. “I think _we_ are in _their_ territory, and they’ve somehow found a way to infiltrate our ship, and are now hellbent on taking out anything that gets in their way.”

”So what you’re saying is that those _things_ live in deep space and fight each other over territory while talking about ships? What is this, a knockoff _Pirates of the Caribbean?”_

”It may as well be,” Rimmer admitted. “The only way forward is to solve their fight. But first, we have to find the Cat and Kryten and try to save them.”

Lister nodded, and Rimmer felt a smile tugging at his lips. Seeing Lister agree with his discoveries was enough to send warmth flowing through his veins; it was approval that he’d sought for quite some time, and although he was Lister’s superior, he still felt quite validated.

”Alright, then, Rimmer,” Lister said, coming to stand in front of him, a newfound smirk on his face, and he clapped the hologram on the arm supportively, “or should I say, _Detective_ Rimmer, where do you suggest we start?”

He was trusting Rimmer with the mission, and that meant quite a lot. “I suggest we start by getting our hands on the black box,” Rimmer said. “Which means finding our way up to the drive room without being killed.”

”Easier said than done,” Lister admitted, seemingly recalling something quite sketchy indeed.. “Do we want to trust elevators? Seems like a surefire way to get trapped.”

”We’ll have to take the stairs,” Rimmer said, “or we could find the matter paddle and use that.”

”Didn’t Kryten have that on him?” Lister frowned.

Rimmer shook his head. “No, don’t be stupid, I would never let that tin can possess something of such vital importance to the crew.” Rimmer lifted his chin proudly. “I stashed it away.”

Lister nodded along. “Okay, good, so where’d you stash it, then?”

”One of those pods outside the mess hall,” Rimmer said with a smirk.

Lister deadpanned. “What _pods?”_

”You know, the ones right outside the mess hall? They lead down to GAR-deck?”

Lister’s brow furrowed. “GAR-deck?! Rimmer, there is no GAR-deck.” He stopped, and Rimmer frowned, looking at him intently. _What?_ “Wait. Rimmer. What else did the pod say?”

”Er… just GAR,” Rimmer admitted. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ He met Lister’s stare, and confirmed his suspicions immediately. “It was a garbage pod, wasn’t it?” Lister nodded. “A garbage pod that Kryten no doubt flushed away into deep space?” Lister nodded again. Rimmer pushed his fist into his mouth; he felt like screaming at how idiotic he had been, and he retreated to his bunk, sinking onto it and burying his face in his palms. _Smegging idiot, well done._ And, just like that, any amount of excitement or hope at the prospect of finding his crewmates vanished lickety-split.

Ain't it funny how that works?

”Hey, we don’t need that matter paddle to make it to the drive room,” Lister tried to comfort, coming to sit beside him, but Rimmer turned away, holding out a hand to stop him.

”No, stop, just stop it, Lister,” Rimmer snapped, fighting back the ensuing panic attack. _We NEEDED that matter paddle! That could have taken us anywhere! We could have ran away in Starbug, or transported ourselves to the nearest derelict for supplies, or even attempted to find a planet with a breathable atmosphere to hide out on for a few days, but no, I’ve gone and flushed it into deep space. How the fuck does a person make that kind of a cock-up? I took it for safekeeping and just ended up screwing us instead. Why can’t I ever do anything right? Why does it always have to be this way? I’m nothing. I’m a failure. I’m-_

”Rimmer, it’s okay, really,” Lister interrupted his thoughts, planting a firm, friendly hand on his shoulder. Rimmer slowly looked at him, and he continued. “I mean it. We can find another way up to the drive room. We’re the boys from the Dwarf, and we’ll do anything for our posse, right?”

”…..right,” Rimmer muttered, not entirely convinced. Lister gave him a gentle, supportive smile.

”Then get up and let’s get cracking, man,” he said, rising in front of Rimmer and taking the bazookoid in his hands. He pumped it for good measure. “We’ve got mimics out there who are just _begging_ to be nuked, and who are we to deny them that?”

Rimmer, for the first time, felt safe around Lister, and he slowly pulled himself to his feet, giving the shorter man a firm nod. If they were going to get through this, then they had to remain diligent; there was no room for doubt, especially not of the self- variety, and thus, Rimmer prepared himself for anything that lay ahead, no matter how difficult or disheartening or _terrifying._ He was going to save his posse.

Even if it meant having to take the stairs.


	4. Gas, and a Lot of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I hope this chapter finds you all in good health and high spirits. We're starting to see that there's more to this situation than meets the eye; will the Cat make it out alive? Let's keep our fingers crossed, because he's a pretty important guy, if he does say so himself! 
> 
> Make sure to leave kudos, comments, and bookmarks! Many thanks for your continued support, I love reading your comments and will do my best to answer every single one of them. Toodle-pipskie! <3

The journey up the stairs was arduous, to say the least; Lister was far more out of shape than he’d thought, and he had to stop every couple of minutes to breathe. _Maybe I should cut back on the lager. Only four cans an hour instead of six._

”Must you rest every five seconds?” Rimmer huffed in annoyance, and Lister shot the man a scowl, leaning against the wall while he regained his breath.

”Oh, like it’s so hard for you, Rimmer, being dead and all that,” Lister argued, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and Rimmer raised an eyebrow, taking a step forward. Lister squared his shoulders; was this going to be a fight?

”It _is_ hard to be dead!” Rimmer exclaimed. “I’ve pined for the fjords, bereft of life, I rest in hell! Meanwhile, _you_ get to just ponce around all day,” he scrunched his nose and mimicked Lister with surprising accuracy, “drinkin’ lager an’ eatin’ vindaloos without a care in the world!” He crossed his arms as though he’d made a point, and annoyance bubbled in Lister’s chest.

“You act like my life’s smegging perfect,” he said quietly, “but it’s not.”

Rimmer let out a loud, hollow laugh. _”You have no idea.”_ He crossed his arms as though closing himself off, protecting himself, and Lister felt annoyance growing with each word that came out of the hologram’s mouth. “How do you think it feels to be stuck with you lot, hmmm? All day, every day, it’s just you with all of your disgusting habits, and the Cat with his incessant narcissism, and Kryten with his bog cleaning. There’s not a _shred_ of intelligent life on this ship, and,” he laughed, “dare I say it, you’ve all started rubbing off on me!”

It was taking every ounce of self-control not to punch Rimmer in the jaw. “What do you mean,” Lister argued, _”rubbing off on you?”_

”Hmmm, how shall I put this,” Rimmer sarcastically wondered, pressing a finger against his chin in thought before triumphantly raising it. “Oh, I know! Your collective stupidity is contagious. Wasn’t it Karl Marx who said that you become the people you surround yourself with?”

Lister frowned. That did _not_ sound right. “I thought it was Britney Spears.”

”Britney Spears, yes, thank you,” Rimmer corrected. “I’ve surrounded myself with idiots, and therefore I myself am becoming an idiot.”

Lister sneered, pulling himself away from the wall. “Rimmer, you give us too much credit,” he commented snidely as he continued to climb the stairs. “You were an idiot before you met us.”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared, and he followed closely, almost desperately, which Lister found amusing. “Hey! That’s not fair, I was perfectly smart before you lot came along! I was on the right path, I was with the right guys, and success was within my grasp!”

”The only success within your grasp was at the top of your inseam and a little towards the middle,” Lister shot back, to which Rimmer tried to block his path; the two stood face to face for a moment, and the stairwell seemed much, much smaller to Lister. It really wasn’t large enough for two people side-by-side, and it felt like the walls were closing in; Lister took a step back, then another step, keeping his hands firmly on the rails and glowering up at the hologram.

”Face it, Lister,” Rimmer stated matter-of-factly, “without you, I could have made it to the top.”

”But you didn’t,” Lister argued, “did you, _Rimmer?_ The only place you ever made it was your bunk at the end of each shift.” He almost, _almost_ felt sorry for Rimmer; all those aspirations, all those dreams, all the traumas from an abusive childhood, had pushed him to strive for greatness, but he’d never achieved it, and it haunted his every waking moment. _Doesn’t mean you’re not a smeghead._

Rimmer opened his mouth to respond, and then snapped it shut, his nostrils flaring. Lister raised an eyebrow. _Thinking of a comeback, are we? Go on. Take your time._ But then Rimmer turned his head, his brows furrowing, and he took a step towards Lister, his attention focused back up the stairs. Lister frowned. He wondered why the air felt twenty degrees cooler, and why the sudden silence was so nerve-wracking, and Rimmer’s odd behavior- namely, backing down from a fight about his many failures in life- left Lister with more questions than answers.

”Do you smell that?” Rimmer whispered, now standing on the step above where Lister was standing. Lister felt a chill run down his spine; he sniffed the air, but all he could smell was…

”Diesel,” he whispered back.

The staircase was too tight, too narrow, too dark, too hot; Lister tugged on the neckline of his tee, cold sweat trickling down his back, and he pulled the bazookoid from where it rested at his side, exchanging a nervous glance with Rimmer. Diesel didn’t necessarily mean anything was amiss, right? It was just his paranoia, and his damned claustrophobia. _That’s it. That’s all there is to it. Just paranoia. Way to go, Rimmer, you’ve got the hairs on the back of me neck tingling. I’ll get you for that one._

”Away with you, Rimmer, you’re just trying to get me riled up,” Lister accused, but the fear in his voice could not be masked. Rimmer clearly knew this, and the hologram looked up the long staircase, his eyes narrowing.

Something was coming. Lister could hear its claws scraping along the concrete, faint at first and then increasing in volume, and he figured those claws were quite long, as the scrapes each lasted several seconds before a break of silence indicated a shift between legs. He did not want to stick around and find out what was making that noise, but the acoustics of the stairwell made it nearly impossible to locate the creature’s exact position.

The stairwell closed in on Lister’s shoulders like the air itself were made of anvils, and he raised the bazookoid, but he didn’t know where to aim; Rimmer’s eyes widened, and he pressed his back against the wall, clearing the way for Lister to shoot.

But shoot, Lister did not.

”What are you waiting for-“ Rimmer hissed, and then he coughed, the words cut from his throat forcefully. He was choking; his leg jerked, his hands went to his neck, and his eyes bulged as he coughed, spluttered, and wheezed, sinking involuntarily to the step he had been standing on, and Lister didn’t know what to do.

He _hated_ not knowing what to do. _Smegging think!_ he screamed at himself, and he allowed the bazookoid to sling back down to his side; he kneeled in front of Rimmer, holding out his hands and pressing them against the hologram’s shoulders, trying to be of some comfort as he pondered what he could do to help. Rimmer wasn’t choking, he was _being_ choked, and the stink of diesel was so acrid that it was starting to make it difficult to see; tears clogged Lister’s eyes, and he quickly brushed them away.

Rimmer’s leg kicked out again, a nervous response, and Lister ducked to the side in order to avoid a boot to the ribcage. His mind was foggy, his reaction times slowing; the unbreathable air was making him light-headed, and those claws kept scraping, scraping, scraping, endlessly scraping, and Lister saw stars beginning to swirl in the corners of his vision.

It then dawned upon him that they were being gassed. No, scratch that- _he_ was being gassed.

”Get rid of the hologram, get rid of the human,” he slurred, realizing the tactic behind this maneuver, “’cause without the hologram, nobody’s there to save the human. Well, you gotta wake up pretty early in the morning to sneak past me like that.” In an instant, he shot his hands out, slid his fingers around the keypad on Rimmer’s belt, and typed in a passcode.

 **Error: Incorrect Input.** It was awfully difficult to type on the damn thing with Rimmer squirming, but he had no choice; he wracked his memory, trying to think of what the emergency shutdown password was, but he was finding it difficult to so much as blink, let alone think.

It had to be something important to Rimmer, maybe a date or a time? But Lister couldn’t for the life of him remember anything that might be of remote importance to the hologram, except maybe his deathday or Gazpacho Soup day, and he knew it wasn’t the latter. It couldn’t be.

Another jerk of Rimmer’s leg swiftly brought Lister out of his thoughts, and he input the code. 1125. **Input Accepted.** Then, **Soft-Light Activated.** Rimmer’s attire shifted from blue to red, and he spluttered, gasping for breath as the invisible attacker released him. He scrambled to his feet, whirling each way, fists raised in a fighting position; but when he saw Lister, he immediately kneeled beside him, countenance one of extreme concern.

”Lister, come on, fight it,” he urged, reactivating his hard-light drive, “you can do it, just keep breathing!”

Lister glanced up, his breaths coming in shorter gasps. He opened his mouth to respond, but inhaled sharply instead as air escaped from his lungs; Rimmer hovered over him, watching in horror as he slid to the cold concrete surface of the stairs, his eyes closing.

The last thing Lister felt before losing consciousness was the sharp tug of the bazookoid from around his shoulders.

\------------------------------------------------------------

”I’m not the brave one, usually,” Rimmer called to the top of the stairs, slinging the bazookoid around his shoulders, and he felt the burning sensation of diesel filling his lungs. _First I get choked, now I get suffocated. Fan-smegging-tastic._ “But you’ve just hurt my…” _Not friend, but what?_ “…coworker. And do you know what I do to people who hurt my coworkers?”

The scraping of claws against concrete ceased, and Rimmer smirked. Maybe he could pull this off, if he could just shake the fear that filled his body. _Pretend it’s in its knickers. Pretend it’s in its knickers. Pretend it’s in its knickers._ “People who hurt my coworkers end up exploding! N-now, does that sound like a very- a very nice thing to have happen to you? No? Didn’t think so, now go ahead and- and- and see yourself out the door!”

If a pin were to fall, it would be heard throughout the stairwell. Rimmer’s smirk disappeared, replaced with pure fear. _Knickers. It’s in its knickers._ He could feel himself shaking, and he took a deep breath of the diesel-y air, forcing himself to calm down. _Did it leave? Maybe it left. If it left, then maybe I’m safe._

”See yourself out the door,” Rimmer’s voice echoed back to him from behind, and the hologram whipped around; he blasted the bazookoid down the seemingly endless line of steps, the fireball illuminating the concrete tunnel as it went, the sound ricocheting off the walls; a loud screech filled the air in deafening pain, and Rimmer could see- all the way at the bottom of the stairs- a large creature resembling a prehistoric ground sloth encompassed in flames. He took this as the cue to hoist Lister under one arm, wield the bazookoid in the other, and _book it,_ and that’s exactly what he did, scaling the rest of the stairs at a speed only accomplishable through adrenaline.

The sloth-like hairy beast, aflame and howling, gave chase; its claws were as long as scabbards, and its neck was far too long for its body, tiny white eyes set deep within a humanoid skull; Rimmer only chanced a single glance before he was leaping up three stairs at a time, his heart pounding so angrily in his chest that he thought it might explode. Lister’s head bonked against the concrete wall quite a few times accidentally, but he paid this no heed; he’d deal with that later.

Sometimes, it was more heroic to run than it was to fight; by those standards, Rimmer was worthy of his own comic book series. He went from taking the stairs three at a time to taking them at five at a time, and he attributed this to some kind of untapped hard-light strength. The mimic was falling behind, evident by its fading voice and the dying illumination of firelight, and Rimmer could make out a door up ahead. He just had to reach that door, and everything would be okay; slinging Lister over his shoulder, he braced his arm in front of his head, then barreled straight through.

Steel and glass exploded around him as he tumbled through the door, and he dropped Lister sharply, rolling to a halt against the opposite wall; the monster’s screams echoed up from the stairwell, and Rimmer scrambled to his feet, snatched Lister by the coat, and once again booked it, racing down the dark hall as though his life depended on it.

He could hear more scuttling, and he wielded the bazookoid with one hand, blasting it at anything that made so much as a squeak; he was fueled by adrenaline and fear, and his legs carried him faster than they ever had before as he attempted to navigate the stretching hallways. _Observation dome, observation dome- YES!_ The ladder was straight ahead, and Rimmer hoisted Lister over his shoulder once again before taking a flying leap. His heels slid onto the rungs, his fingers grasping them tightly, and he shimmied up the chute and into the observation dome.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lister came to, he was surrounded by stars; unsurprising, as they were in space. What _was_ surprising was the ventilator mask wrapped around his face. His fingers brushed against the plastic, tugging lightly, and he glanced around, a bit confused. This wasn’t the stairwell; where _was_ he?

”Ah. You’re awake.” Rimmer’s voice came from below, and Lister flipped over to see the hologram suspended on the ladder, bazookoid pointed down through the thin chute leading up into the observation dome. With a jolt, he realized that his line of oxygen was coming from a thin tube stretching out into the hallway; he pulled his mask off, coughing at the taste of diesel in his throat, and he gently laid it aside, brow furrowing.

”What happened?” he groggily asked. Rimmer did not immediately answer. “Rimmer. What happened.”

”You were gassed,” Rimmer stated nonchalantly. Lister wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

”Come on, man,” he pressed, “surely there’s more to it than that.” 

”I saved your life, now put that mask back on.”

His tone was bitter, like he was unhappy about it, and Lister blinked, incredulous. “You saved me life? What’d you do that for?”

”Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Rimmer said tersely. “Allow me to repeat myself: _put. That. Mask. Back. On._ ”

”Yes, mum,” Lister mocked, but he did as he was told; he had to admit, the taste of clean air was much better than the lingering diesel, and he breathed it greedily. His relief was short-lived, however, as he noticed Rimmer smirking.

”Quite pleased with yourself, are you?” Lister challenged, swinging his legs over the edge of the deck and letting them dangle down in Rimmer’s face. “Fancy yourself a hero now just ‘cause you’ve saved my life?”

”Well, Lister, nobody _else_ was going to do it,” Rimmer responded quite smugly, right before waving Lister’s feet away with a wrinkled nose. “Get your boots away from my face, they smell worse than the garbage dumps on Mimas.”

”So what do you expect, then?” Lister asked. “A thank you? A ceremony? A new rank?”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared, and Lister noted with satisfaction that he had gotten under his companion’s skin. “Well, for a start, you could start respecting my authority.”

”What, the authority that comes with being the biggest smeghead this side of Io?” Lister scoffed, once again pushing his feet close to Rimmer’s face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure that’s _very_ respectable, Rimmer.”

Rimmer frowned, waving Lister’s feet away once again. He looked troubled; Lister’s mischievous grin vanished, and he leaned on his hand, watching the hologram. _What’s eating him?_

”You can look away for five seconds, y’know,” Lister commented, referring to Rimmer’s intense gaze down the chute and into the hallway below. “I don’t think anything’s going to kill us if you do.”

”Five seconds is a hell of a long time, Lister,” Rimmer responded flatly, and he still did not remove his stare from the chute. His attitude was making Lister nervous. _What the hell did he see while I was out? What’s got him so spooked?_

”That’s what she said,” Lister responded, then shook his head. No, that wasn’t appropriate. “Sorry. I’m a bit on edge meself. What’d you see, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Rimmer’s eyelids fluttered, like he wanted to glance up at Lister, but he kept his gaze focused on the chute, and Lister realized that he wasn’t going to like the answer. Not a single bit.

”It was large,” Rimmer admitted softly. “Larger than _life._ In the stairwell… it was at the bottom.”

The way he talked about the creature made the hairs on Lister’s arms rise. _It was at the bottom?_ “Hold on! But wasn’t that sound coming from the top?”

Rimmer gave a single, tiny nod. “The more I think about it,” he said, “the more driven I am to conclude that not only was it at the top of the staircase, but it crawled along the ceiling until it was at the bottom. I have a theory that it released the gas while it was lingering overhead, and then tried to choke me somehow.”

”So it can crawl like a bug,” Lister muttered. “Like a tarantula.”

”Like a tarantula,” Rimmer agreed. Lister groaned, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He _hated_ tarantulas.

”And you think it’s gonna come up here to finish us off?”

”It had a goal in mind,” Rimmer responded. “I just don’t know what.”

”What’dya mean, had a goal in mind?” Lister sat up, curiosity peaked.

Rimmer thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have a feeling that whatever it was doing, it was being deliberate.” He seemed perfectly content to leave it at that, and Lister was irritated with his lack of elaboration.

”Right, Rimmer, right,” he sarcastically muttered. “That makes things _so very clear._ ”

Rimmer shifted a bit, and Lister let out a sigh. “So how long’re we hiding up here, then?”

”Until you’ve recuperated.”

”Recuperated from what?” Lister tugged the mask off. “I’m fine. Look at me, I’m breathing, I’m fine.”

”Lister, you hit your head several times during our escape,” Rimmer informed him. It was really bothering Lister that the hologram refused to look at him. “You’re concussed, I’m certain of it, and we can’t have you running around drooling all over the floor, now can we?”

”How did I hit my head if I was unconscious?!” Lister exclaimed, and then, “You dropped me, didn’t you?”

”Ehhhhh, the details aren’t important,” Rimmer responded. “What’s important is that you rest.”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Every second that we waste up here is a second we could be spending looking for the Cat,” he argued. “You wouldn’t want the Cat to die because we wasted time, would you?”

Rimmer did not respond. Lister scoffed. “Oh, right, forgot who I was talking to for a second there,” he muttered.

”It’s in your best interest to stay up here until you feel better,” Rimmer responded matter-of-factly. He sounded so serious, Lister couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Who was _Rimmer_ to decide what was best for him? He gripped the railings that surrounded the observation dome and pulled himself to his feet, slightly wobbling as the blood rushed instantly to his head. Spite kept him upright.

”Lister, sit down,” Rimmer sighed in exasperation, but he _still_ didn’t bother looking up, and Lister felt further compelled to go against his instructions. He leaned against the red railing, gloved hands gripping it tightly, and he shot a smirk down at the unlooking man.

”I’m fine, see? Why don’t you take a look?” But Rimmer did not relent. Lister groaned, pulling out a cigarette and sticking it between his teeth, frustration growing.

”No smoking in the observation dome,” Rimmer commented snarkily. Lister blew smoke down into his face, and the hologram wrinkled his nose before waving the smoke away.

”What’re you gonna do about it?” he asked, before immediately collapsing in a coughing fit. His lungs were _burning,_ and he was more than quick to extinguish the cigarette, realizing with a jolt that Rimmer was right, he was still a bit fucked up. He _hated_ that Rimmer was right, and he hoped the hologram could feel his glare burning through that stupid blue puff jacket.

”I don’t need to do anything,” Rimmer commented snidely. “Looks like your lungs’ve taken care of that for me.”

”Thanks a lot for your help.”

”No problem.” He went quiet for a moment, then added in a much gentler tone, “I’m sure the Cat will be fine. He’s survived on his own before.”

”Not like this, he hasn’t,” Lister argued, tasting diesel in his throat and immediately coughing into his arm. _Disgusting._ “Not like this.”

”Lister, face it,” Rimmer said, his voice suddenly cold, “if you go out there in your condition, you’ll die. And if you die, there’s no reason for my hologram to be sustained, and I’ll die, too. Therefore, it is in _both_ of our best interests to keep you from further damaging yourself. Smeg the Cat, you’re the one we should focus on saving.”

”I’m sorry,” Lister said, “did you just say _smeg the Cat?”_

”That’s exactly what I said, and I meant every word of it,” Rimmer responded all too quickly. “We have to focus on keeping you safe, first and foremost. We’ll wait until your head is healed, and then we’ll go.”

Lister sank back to the floor of the deck, leaning his head against the giant oxygen tank in the middle of the tiny, circular room. “Fine,” he grumbled. He had to admit, he did feel quite dizzy, and standing had been a chore; he was in no shape to go galivanting through corridors, blasting a bazookoid at anything that dared move in front of him. Slowly, he picked the oxygen mask back up off the ground and fastened it around his mouth, breathing deep that fresh air.

Rimmer was quite pleased with this, Lister could see, as the edges of a big smile tugged at his cheeks. _Smeghead._ He wondered what would become of the Cat if they waited too long; they could always repair Kryten, but they could never bring the Cat back to life. It broke his heart to think that he was failing his friend; if he could have it his way, he’d jump down through the chute right now and blast every monster to smithereens until he found his friend, but he knew Rimmer was right.

What use would he be to the Cat if he was dead?

”Don’t let it get to your head,” he warned Rimmer. “You’ve only been right twice today.”

”Twice in one day? Marvelous,” Rimmer responded quite smugly, and Lister once again felt the urge to stroke his teeth with his knuckles, but he remained quiet. _It’s not worth the fight,_ he decided.

He sat in silence for a long moment, then looked up. The stars were beautiful, twinkling against a black canvas with numerous galaxies splattering the dark sky, and a shooting star flashed overhead. Lister found himself wondering what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

Somehow, he knew that Rimmer, of all people, was the key to figuring all of this out. He was the only person left with answers, even if they were cryptic and unhelpful, and he had already experienced more than Lister had in regards to the beasts that prowled the hallways. If anybody was going to get them out of this mess, it was the anally retentive hologram perched on the ladder, blocking the entrance with a bazookoid and a glare.

Lister thought that over one more time, and then reluctantly came to the conclusion that they were, in fact, smegged.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you follow me on Tumblr!  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/optimistic-fangie  
> Leave kudos, a comment, and remember to bookmark for future updates! Thanks a ton!


End file.
